that's mrs. mediocrity to you

a giggle escapes
through the space
between
clouds

blue sky
bleeding
promises

and you
in the corner

throwing choices
at cracked white walls

always looking
for the one
that will stick

i hear an ocean of epitaph
singeing torn curtains

a whale on the roof
leaking tears
into gutter

grey gull
limping flight
through waves of sand

a bead of laughter
rises up
beneath the surface

breaking skin and
creeping starfish
that will die
of too much sun

and the ball
rolling back in my
direction

comes to rest
at the edge
of false fealty

cliff hanger hopeful
and harpy sated

siren

marking grid
on fields of silent

glittered gauze

(as if it didn’t)

you held my hand and pretended
to be charmed, or charming, i forget

witch

as i wept the ocean, starfish and octopus
all legs and phosphorescence

circling

imprints in the sand that marched
back to the depths on a wave,

indifferent

.

.

.

.

.

kintsugi

three parts shard
and one part molten

we’ve forgotten how to fix things
         (it’s easier to discard)

we all have cracks
and fissures
dents and holes

some of us hide them
better than others

some of us fill them
with gold

polish edges
display as beauty

and some of us
sip from a cup

no longer leaking

.

. . . . .

you can find a definition of kintsugi here.

30 days. thanks so much for being here.

.

.

.

almost

the economy booms
and the shrapnel’s
made of lies

truths untold
litter fields
of reminiscence

the opposition
lining up
along one side

preparing for
a battle
no one wins

and poppies
line the forest
strewn with pride

.

. . . . .

.

.

.

asked and answered

in the middle of the afternoon
a long walk through urban forest

trees replaced with towering glass

jostling heads on unfurled shoulders

cement and asphalt impersonating
soil

heat pounding

heart pounding

noise rounding
corners

life
bleating
everywhere

unseen

.

. . . . .

.

.

.

april snow

falling gently from
your grey ancillary sky
belated goodbye

.

. . . . .

.

.

.

the world turns

and i watch the sun
rising patiently
again
patting cheeks
and shoulders

there, there

the grass is green again
(on this side)
color replacing grey
with no qualm
whatsoever

there, there

and the gang of cardinals
splits off into pairs
hoarding territory
and black oil
seed

it’s all political

.

. . . . .

.

.

.

you kept saying

my name and i kept breaking ancient dishes and the road rose up to meet silence after all those years of pontificated blessings. it wasn’t an ending and we were never careful and we met again just left of someone’s center. a poplar whispered overhead, louder than reconciliation. you touched my arm as a question.

beneath the tall pine
six feet from feast and fallow
the sound of breaking

.

. . . . .

.

.

.

compost

last night
in the grocery store
i thought i saw you

no, i
did
see you
for one brief second
that stretched to
infinity

as i turned
and stared and
almost

reached out

to touch your shoulder

say your name

all the while
reminding myself
that ghosts
never shop
for frozen peas

.

. . . . .

.

.

.

something to be said

for the way moonlight and subterfuge
carry on in dark corners
building secrets and sanity
from promise and pause
.
white lace curtain call
for dancing midnight siren
bell-lipped enchantress

.

. . . . .

.